Red
by Mirajane Scarlet
Summary: The world has been overrun with zombies and the only one left in Becon Hills is Stiles. Told from Stiles POV. Zombie!AU. Rated T for swearing.


_A/N: So... here is my first Teen Wolf fic! (Or the first one I've posted, anyway.) It's implied Sterek and a zombie!au story. Because... I don't really know why. Someone on tumblr posted a bunch of pictures about a zombie!au and this popped into my head. Also... does anyone have a code for ao3? I really want to start posting my Teen Wolf stuff there but I won't get a code until April. Of next year. April. So if you have a code, please, please, please give it to me! I would write something for it. Pretty much anything you'd like. _

**Red**

Stiles ran around the side of the building and stopped, leaning up against the blood coated stucco and panting, trying to catch his breath. His hand shaking, he raised his gun and checked it. No bullets left. Fuck. He dropped it. No point in carrying it if there were no bullets. And it wasn't like there were any left in town. Every building had been emptied of almost all supplies about a week ago.

There was no point in anything anymore.

Fuck.

Who'd have ever thought this was how things would turn out?

A whole bunch of werewolves and a trained hunter and he, the weak, untrained, no muscles or fighting skills at all human, was the only one still standing.

How the fuck did that happen?

He thought about the four months that had passed since the zombie infection had taken over the town. How, at first, it hadn't been so bad. They'd all gathered together in a big house that had been adandoned since the people who owned it had died and at first it had been okay. But as more and more people died... and then came back... it got worse.

Isaac and Erica had run off together about two months ago. They ran off into the woods and had never been seen again. Stiles liked to think that they'd found some nice, zombie-free place somewhere and were living out their very own happily-ever-after. And that they weren't the corpses he and Derek had found in the woods two weeks later that had been so badly chewed up, so badly mangled that they couldn't even be identified. Sometimes though, right before he managed to fall asleep, the few instances where he could fall asleep for even a little while, he would wonder if it was them. One of the bodies had long blond hair, like Erica. And they'd been holding hands.

Lydia had died after she'd been bitten while out foraging for food with Scott. She'd asked Jackson to kill her. She didn't want to become one of those things, she'd said. Jackson hadn't wanted to do it. Argued with her about it for hours, but eventually he'd done what she'd asked him to do. Seconds after that he blew his own brains out. Couldn't handle it, Stiles guessed. He wasn't sure he would have been able to, either.

He knew how Derek had died. He'd been there, seen it as Derek jumped in front of a bunch of zombies and told him to run. Didn't say anything else. Like why in the ever loving hell he was sacrificing himself. Derek had never even liked him, and yet Derek had clearly been completely okay with the whole dying as a sacrifice thing.

He knew that Scott had done the same, for Allison. He had stood against the door of the house they'd taken as their own and done exactly the same thing. He'd stayed behind, told her to run. She had. She'd run into the backyard, headed for the woods. She'd planned to climb a tree, Stiles thought. Climbing tress worked well. Zombies weren't smart enough to figure that one out. But she only got about as far as the back gate before half the zombies that were now tearing Scott to pieces smelled her and ran back. She was killed quickly after that and Scott's sacrifice had been worth exactly nothing.

Stiles didn't like to think about that. He didn't like to think about how Derek, someone who had done nothing but make nasty remarks and shove him up against walls, had done the same thing as Scott had done for someone he loved.

He didn't like to think about that. He didn't like to think about what it might have meant. He also didn't like, if that meant what he didn't want to think it meant, all the opportunities he'd missed to say something. Or at the very least to kiss Derek like the world was ending. Because it was. And why the hell not? Why the hell didn't he? That right there would plague him, torture him for the rest of his life. However long that would end up being, he didn't really know.

Boyd had walked out into the street one day and allowed the zombies to eat him. He had said something about not wanting to bother anymore. About being too tired. Too exhausted. It was all too much.

And that had been everyone. Everyone but him.

With a shaky sigh Stiles picked up the gun. Fuck it. He might as well keep going. He didn't want to think about it, but he didn't want to make Derek's sacrifice for him completely pointless. Even if the world was a complete fucking mess at this point. Even if... even if because Derek was dead, because Scott was dead, because Allison and Lydia were dead, there was no point in carrying on. There was so much death. _So_ much death. So much blood. So much...

There was red everywhere. So much red that the color started to lose all meaning.

He flipped up the hood on his red hoodie, the one he'd always caught Derek smiling at whenever he wore it, and kept going.

He might as well.


End file.
